Mortal Mistakes

  Chapter 7

  Stan sat at his desk, with his left hand resting just in front of his computer keyboard and his right elbow on the desk supporting the weight of his head. His chin rested on the palm of his right hand while his fingers massaged his closed eyelids. He was having great difficulty staying focused on his work, because of pain, and because of disappointment over Bob Stein’s rejection of his vacation request. He washed two more aspirin down with coffee.

  "Morning Stan. Deep in thought already, I see," came a halfhearted greeting from Jan Murray. "Push those buttons, Stanley. Click-click-click."

  "Good morning," Stan lukewarmly replied, without removing his chin from his hand or turning to face Jan. She plopped her purse onto her desk and headed across the floor with her over sized coffee mug toward the office canteen.

  ‘Morning‘? ‘Already‘? He echoed her words silently to himself, peeking beneath his ring finger at his watch. Nine forty-five! Freaking near noon,you lazy, useless— He arrested his thought. Why am I thinking stuff like that? He guessed that it was because of his disappointing conversation with Bob, or that maybe it was the looming challenge of the Mid-City project, which Jan and Keith had allowed to go sour. No. It’s the blasted headache, he concluded to himself.

  Four aspirin had barely helped. He checked his phone book, reached for his phone, and dialed his family doctor‘s office.

  "Dr. Ravit's office. This is Mary." a voice on the other end of the line hastily greeted.

  "Hi, this is Stan Bronsky. I need to make an appointment, Mary."

  "It’s for me." Stan answered. "Headaches. Real bad headaches. I just want Dr. Ravit to check me over." Stan noted the appearance over his shoulder of Keith Williams. "Yes, tomorrow at nine will be fine. Thanks." Stan scribbled a note to himself and hung up the phone.

  Jan returned from the canteen, munching on a cookie, and began to gracefully sink into her desk chair, with oversized mug in hand.

  "Hey old buddy, just take a couple of aspirin and go fishing, if you want my advice." Keith Williams cheerfully chimed, as he flung his wind breaker at their shared coat rack. “The weather’s great outside. I’ll bet the fish are jumping in the boats.”

  Ten freaking o'clock! Stan noted the time on his watch. He shot a angry glance at Keith without a word.

  On a scale of zero to ten, Stan's headache was sitting at eight. His irritation at his two workmates was rapidly exceeding that score. His jaw muscles tightened. His teeth clenched and his temples pulsed. His lips began to quiver noticeably. Sensing trouble, Keith Williams turned quickly away from Stan and began a hurried descent into his chair. He hastily punched a couple of buttons on his computer.

  "You listen, butt head." Stan shot the words, as he spun his chair abruptly toward Keith. "If you and miss lazy butt," his voice was rising in volume, enunciation crisper, "would get your rear ends to work before noon, Mid-City wouldn't be in the crapper and I could take a day off and go fishing!" The words burst from Stan like an orgasmic sneeze, that having once started, could not be checked. He felt a tremendous release as he finally let go of simmering pent-up frustration.

  The shock of the outburst caused Jan to choke on a sip of coffee. That in turn caused her to lose her grip on the large coffee mug which sprang from her hand toward her desk.

  Aw Christ! Stan thought, as he watched the mug eject from her hand. The projectile's movement over the next half second seemed like it was occurring in slow motion to him, as his eyes remained glued to the ceramic mug. His momentary pleasure of emotional release was immediately outweighed by regret as he watched the unfolding drama.

  Onto her desk the mug flew, with a oblique landing that spewed a large helping of hot coffee, with double cream and triple sugar, across the top of Jan's desk. It crashed into the keyboard and display of her computer and ricocheted back toward Jan. Stan felt weak, as his eyes followed the unstoppable journey of the ejecting mug. His lips quivered uncontrollably. He desperately wished that he was only dreaming, or that he could somehow turn back time for just one minute.

  Having sprayed the balance of its contents in the direction of her short gray wool skirt, her gorgeous thighs, and her designer shoes, the mug terminated its flight by crashing loudly against a chrome plated desk pedestal and exploded into a pile of ceramic shards around her feet.

  “EEEEEE!” Jan's scream was heard floor wide. She grabbed protectively at her skirt and thighs, brushing vigorously with both hands as she shot to her feet.

  Keith Williams rushed to her side and then stood helpless with arms and hands dangling loosely in front of him, not knowing where or what to touch or if he should keep his hands to himself. Of which choices, he wisely opted for the latter.

  "You lousy, rotten creep!" Jan screeched at Stan.

  She grabbed her purse and bounded toward the ladies room shoving Keith Williams backwards as she went. He struggled to remain erect.

  Bob Steen and CTC vice president of operations C T Grissom were in the middle of a important meeting when Jan’s scream breached the walls of their conference room. They burst from the doorway just in time to catch a brief glimpse of Jan as she streaked toward the ladies restroom, with both arms extended straight in front of her. Her shoulder strapped purse trailed her at an angle only slightly below the horizontal, as if desperately fighting to remain attached to its strap. She assaulted the restroom door, which strained to remain attached to its hinges as it slammed against a back stop.

  Both of the manager’s heads then turned in unison, with puzzled stares, in the direction of Stan Bronsky and Keith Williams, some fifty feet away. The two were peering perplexedly over their five foot high cubicle divider in the direction of the ladies restroom. They turned sheepish faces, in unison, toward the two managers.

  "Coffee. Hot coffee." Keith Williams volunteered, just loud enough for Steen and Grissom to hear. Both he and Stan slipped silently below the top of the cubicle divider.

  Having satisfied their anxious curiosity, the two managers retreated into the conference room and closed the door again. Across the floor, other curious workers began to return to their activities.

  Jan Murray quickly removed her pantyhose and assessed the damage to her skin, which although stinging at first, now seemed trivial. She wiped a wet paper towel over her thighs and followed that with a squirt of lotion. She reckoned the stained gray skirt to no longer be presentable and turned her thoughts to planning the least conspicuous exit from the building.

  “That lousy creep!" She said to her reflection as she repaired her makeup. “Who does he think he is anyway. He has no right to talk to me like that. He‘s not my boss!"

  The restroom door opened cautiously. "Are you alright?" Betty McIvers asked. She was standing halfway through the doorway, holding the door with one hand. "What happened?" She noted the brown splotched pantyhose, lying on the vanity. "Keith said hot coffee? Are you burned very bad?"

  Jan Murray was holding a red shoe over the sink and meticulously wiping it with moistened tissue. "Oh, I'm okay now, I guess. Fortunately the coffee wasn’t that hot. But it ruined my hose and skirt.”

  “I'm sorry,” Betty replied.

  “Listen Betty, do you know if anyone might have a coat that I could borrow to wear home over this mess? I hate to walk out looking like this." She nodded downward momentarily.

  "I have a raincoat. You're welcome to borrow it. I'll go get it for you."

  Before leaving, Betty eyed the few stains on Jan’s skirt.

  Good grief, if I had legs like that I wouldn't be too concerned about a couple of coffee stains. No one would notice anyhow, at least not any red-blooded man I know. She backed out the door and walked toward her desk to get her raincoat for Jan.

  Stan had been leaning back in his desk chair at an awkward angle and peering anxiously across the floor as Betty McIvers retreated from the restroom. Now he hurriedly walked a slanting path to intersect her.

 
"How's Jan, Betty? Is she burned very bad?" Stan earnestly inquired.

  He never had really thought that much of Jan. His opinion was that Jan was full of herself, He felt that she had been hired for her looks. And he had little regard for her limited technical abilities and work ethic. Still, he felt bad about the coffee burn. He honestly hoped that she wasn‘t in pain. He well remembered what pain from burns felt like after his army experience.

  "Oh, I think she's fine, Stan." Betty answered. "I think she's more concerned with her clothes than anything. I'm getting her a coat to wear home so she can change."

  Not wanting to draw any more attention to the incident than had already been accorded, Stan quietly nodded and returned to his desk.

  Jan Murray did a half turn to the left and then to the right, appraising the fit and look of the borrowed raincoat in the restroom mirror.

  “A little large for me," she whined. But she decided that it would have to do. She walked out of the restroom and turned her pretty face over her right shoulder toward Betty. "Please tell Bob I've gone home for the day and that I want to talk to him in the morning. Would you, Betty?"

  "Sure thing, Jan."

  "Thanks, Betty," Jan replied. She made a direct and hasty departure to the elevator.

  Betty McIvers rolled her eyes as she watched her coat and Jan disappear into the elevator. She had thought that they might both be returning in an hour or two. Now it appeared, she wouldn't see either before tomorrow. She glanced through the floor length vertical blinds, on the south side of the building, and noted the unhindered brightness of the spring sun.

  “Oh well, I won’t be needing my raincoat today anyhow," she muttered.

  Twenty minutes later, Keith Williams left the building.

  Chapter 8

  Karen backed her car from the Bronsky driveway, on her way to drop Jenny at the Obenhauer Nursery and then to work at the Chantley Gallery. She would have preferred a nursery closer to home, but both she and Jenny loved Mrs. Obenhauer. Children and parents affectionately called her Mrs. O. Karen liked knowing that Jenny was only a few minutes away from the art gallery where she worked part time.

  A few months earlier, Karen’s best friend, Paula Chantley, pleaded with her to manage her art gallery part time. Had it been anyone other than Paula needing her, Karen would never have considered a job in town. She would have preferred to work closer to home for Jenny's sake.

  Karen and Paula became best friends in high school. Paula was maid of honor at Karen's wedding. Besides Stan, Paula was the first person to hold Jenny after her birth.

  Paula painted and also accepted other artist’s paintings on consignment in her store. Her business had grown to the point that it was increasingly difficult for her to run the store and concentrate on painting too.

  Karen carried her bundle of love and joy past the heavy wooden front door of the old brick two story building that served as both business and home to Mrs. Obenhauer. She stopped to remove Jenny's hooded jacket. After a couple of solicited hugs and kisses from Jenny, Karen bid Mrs. O and Jenny goodbye.

  As she drove the remaining blocks to work, Karen recalled the joy she felt when Jenny was born,. She and Stan had been married for twelve years and had accepted that a child of their own was apparently not meant to be. Then the miracle had happened. In spite of all the tests and exams that said, "No", the Giver of Life had said, "Yes". Since Jenny arrived, their marriage found unspeakable joy that could have only come from parenting their child. Karen’s life changed dramatically. She abandoned a successful business career and never returned to full time work. She wanted to spend all of her time and energy enjoying and nurturing Jenny.

  Stan’s world had not changed all that much after Jenny was born. He loved Jenny more than anything, but he continued to work at the same job and follow the same interests and habits as before. To Karen, it seemed that Stan was perennially changeless. That added to her recent concerns about him. It seemed to her that for a number of weeks now, he had been moody and irritable with increasing frequency. He spent more and more time at the office. She wondered if he could be tiring of her and Jenny. He seemed to be cross and intolerant at times.

  Oh God, could he possibly— Her face took on a alarmed and astonished look. Surely he’s not having an affair. She began backtracking in her mind. When did we last make love? Was it last weekend. No, it must have been over a week ago. Yes, I think it was a week ago Wednesday.

  She guided the sedan into a parking space in the small lot behind the old four story brick building on west Washington, which housed the Chantley Gallery.

  She continued to search her mind. He really didn't seem into it very much. But the time before that, I think he seemed okay. Come to think of it, I think I initiated it the last couple of times, maybe more than that.

  “Oh," she said to her reflection in the rear view mirror, “it's probably just my imagination." Still, she thoughtfully concluded to herself, that there was something strange going on. She examined her face in the mirror and switched off the car’s ignition. She was encouraged to detect no new wrinkle or blemish on her attractive face. Looking slightly bewildered, she stared past the mirror into space.

  An image of Jan Murray popped into her thoughts. When she first met Jan, Karen recognized, that Jan was a beautiful girl and that she certainly had the looks to cause a husband to think about straying, if he were so inclined. She reasoned though, that Jan and Stan had worked together a good while and that if anything were going to happen between them, it surely would have happened long before now. However, she reminded herself that Stan had come home late, lots of times, in recent months. She slowly swung her petite frame from behind the wheel. She looked dazed and seemed unsure of herself as she closed the car door. She shrugged off her thoughts and concerns though, as she unlocked the rear door of the gallery and stepped inside.

  *****

  Robert stepped from the train onto the platform with his left foot, as he always did. His left hand and arm firmly sandwiched the front section of the morning paper which Jan Murray had left behind against his chest. With the memory of her and her fragrance still fresh in his mind, he climbed the steps leading from the underground station to the bustling sidewalk above.

  The warm morning air was exhilarating to Robert. The sun was shining brightly. Spring had returned in glorious colors and scents and sounds. Even in the midst of hundreds of acres of concrete and glass, one could occasionally hear a bird's melodious song as it established or protected it‘s territory. The annual reawakening of plant and animal swept over the city like a beautiful mosaic. The order to reproduce could no longer be suppressed. Robert mocked the whistle of a Robin. He affectionately held the still scented newspaper to his cheek.

  He turned west on Clay street, as always and extended his distance from Front street. Adjacent buildings shrank in size as he continued his walk. His pace now carried him eight blocks west of the city's center. Here there were no posh plaques of brass employed to identify aged buildings. Business establishments became more distinguishable, and store front awnings and advertising signs jutted out to the sidewalks occasionally. Century old, brick and brownstone apartment buildings were sprinkled in between businesses. Here and there an occasional empty lot served as cherished parking spaces.

  Robert raised the newspaper to his nose. He could still smell faint provocative fragrances of Jan Murray’s perfume on the paper. He pressed it against his cheek again and smiled. He imagined basking in the intoxicating scent of the beautiful young woman forever. He pictured himself lying on a sunny beach with a warm wind, replete with her fragrance blowing in from the ocean and engulfing the entire beach with the magnificent scent. He wondered if a scent could last forever if it were in a perfectly sealed container. He decided that he would put the newspaper in a tightly sealed plastic bag when he got to work and take it home later that evening. He would see just how long the fragrance would last in a se
aled container. He mused that he could open it on special occasions, like his birthday, or Christmas, and would recapture a memory of his brief encounter with the beautiful girl. He released a throaty chuckle as he pondered his plan.

  He walked past a fenced lot, as he did every day, when something unusual caught his eye and caused him to stop and retrace his last few steps.

  Mrs. Obenhauer had decided that it was warm enough today to open her play lot. She opened the door leading to the side lot, and allowed the older of her charge to enjoy the warm morning sun and fresh air. Children younger than two years of age were not allowed that liberty. This was the first day since last October that the playground had been so used.

  From the play room of the nursery, she could keep an eye on the children playing outside through her new picture window. It had been an expensive project to have the large window installed last year; but she now had a unobstructed view of all of the play lot, except for the corners nearest the building.

  The lot was enclosed by six foot high chain link fencing, with three strands of barbed wire at the top. It was thirty feet wide and sixty feet deep. Toward the rear of the lot, three children played on toddler sized monkey bars. Nearby, two more youngsters played in two sections of brightly painted concrete cylinders. Near the front of the lot, almost out of view, she could see Jenny Bronsky playing alone on the new toddler slide.

  Mrs. Obenhauer was seated in a antique pine rocking chair. She slowly rocked with a one year old, who was not feeling well today. The steady creaking of the rocking chair caused both of them to feel drowsy. Her kind face was etched with the wear and wrinkles of sixty nine years. Her hair was almost silver. Only a sprinkling of black threads revealed the original coloring. The weariness of her pale blue eyes concealed the passions and ventures that she had experienced in years gone by.

  Having backed up three steps, Robert stooped next to the chain link fence. His eyes came to rest on a little blue eyed girl in a pink jacket perched on a yellow plastic slide. He squatted with his weight balanced precariously on the balls of his feet and tipped his baseball cap back a little for a better view. His backward steps had put him near the front corner of the building, where the fence was attached. He steadied himself by curling the fingers of his hand through the woven fence. His raincoat dragged the ground beneath him. The gleeful shouts and chatter of the other children faded from Roberts hearing as he concentrated his full attention on Jenny Bronsky. He smiled as he studied her. Beautiful, he thought.